


Sole Mates

by pinkys_creature_feature



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Louboutins, M/M, Mistreatment of expensive clothing, Origin Story, first encounter, meet ugly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 06:52:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13653738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkys_creature_feature/pseuds/pinkys_creature_feature
Summary: Arthur screwed over the wrong person and has a hit out on him. They can shoot him but they better not get anything on his Louboutins.





	Sole Mates

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kedgeree11 (kedgeree)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kedgeree/gifts).



> This is for the lovely Kedgree! 
> 
> My prompt was "Ruby red". I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Thanks to Brookbond for the beta and cheering!

The strange thing about being shot is that at first you don’t feel anything. Sure, your steps hitch from the impact, but there is nothing; no pain screaming that something is wrong. 

 

A few moments later, once you see the ruby stain spreading across the thigh of your Dunhill trousers, that’s when the pain starts... especially when remembering how much those pants cost. 

 

“Oh fuck me,” Arthur cursed, his leg giving way as he tumbled to the sidewalk.This was bad and he knew it. He hadn’t heard the gunshot, only the bullet impacting the sidewalk behind him. He didn’t see the shooter, but it was possible they were still lurking nearby waiting to finish the job. 

 

Arthur tried to fend off the rush of people who were trying to help but were only pulling the seams of his jacket, the threads straining and popping. Every broken stitch was a pain worse than any bullet wound. Several people grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him to the relative safety of a cafe’s awning. 

 

Arthur took a deep breath, trying to slow his heart rate. Maybe screwing over Antoli and stealing his Aston Martin hadn’t been the best idea after all. Fun, but a bad idea. God, that car was amazing though.

 

Arthur gladly accepted a scarf from a bystander and pressed it to his thigh. 

 

    The sound of sirens echoed in the distance.  _ Great, someone’s called for help _ , Arthur groaned internally, knowing there was no way he was running away from this and all the questions the cops would have. He started trying to think of what bullshit story he was going to use. 

 

Arthur was starting to feel light-headed, blood pooling beneath him, seeping into the cement. He glanced at his brand new Louboutin shoes, bought with some of Antoli’s money, and did his best to keep them out of the blood, but his injured leg felt like lead. 

 

Before he realized it, the crowd was clearing and a seriously handsome paramedic was kneeling next to him. If Arthur wasn’t a few pints low he would definitely ask that guy out for a drink.

 

Arthur knew the man was speaking to him, asking him his name, the date, but Arthur was too distracted with trying to save his shoes. 

 

“I need you to pay attention and answer me.” The man had the nerve to turn Arthur’s face towards him, his gloved fingers digging into Arthur’s cheeks. 

 

Arthur shoved his hand away, moving again to reach for the laces on his shoes only to be pulled back by a second paramedic who was trying to help wrestle him onto a gurney. 

 

“Watch the shoes, asshole,” Arthur hissed. 

 

“Look, I can either stop you from bleeding out or I can save your shoes. Which would you rather I do?” the first paramedic sniped as they lifted the gurney into the ambulance, his plush lips pulled into a sarcastic grin as he got a pat on the shoulder from the other guy.

“Save the shoes,” Arthur insisted after a very pregnant pause. 

 

“Good to know where your priorities lie,” Lips snorted, as the other paramedic moved to the driver's seat. He quickly set an IV and Arthur felt like a warm blanket had been placed over him. God, he loved morphine. 

 

“I’ve already lost a Dunhill suit today, I’m not losing my $1,600 Louboutins,” Arthur whined as the paramedic cut open the leg of his trousers to gain better access to his wound. Each cut was like a stab straight to his soul. 

 

It only took them a few minutes to reach the hospital but somehow Arthur had been stripped of his suit, shoes, and dignity in that time. At least the paramedic had seemed to enjoy the ride. 

 

*************

 

After a minor surgery and four days in the hospital, Arthur found himself in green scrubs, arguing with the lady manning the nurses station. 

 

“My shoes were removed in the ambulance. I want them back,” Arthur hissed, staring daggers at the young woman. 

 

“I’m sorry sir, I looked and I have no records of any shoes being turned in. I don’t even have a record of which ambulance brought you in.” The lady smiled nervously, her hand creeping closer to the phone. 

 

“Fuck this,” Arthur huffed, throwing his hands in the air. “Someone just found themselves an expensive pair of shoes that had only been worn once. Yay for them.” Arthur stormed out of the hospital with as much rage as a person with a limp could express. 

 

The next week found him in California, sprawled on Dom’s couch. “I can’t believe it. Someone had to have stolen those shoes.”

 

“Arthur, I love you and you are my friend, but if I have to hear about those shoes one more time I’m going to shoot you myself,” Dom warned, baby James resting on his hip lessening the credibility of the threat. “What are you planning to do about that price on your head anyways?” 

 

“Kill him, I guess.” 

 

“‘Kill him’? Is that your solution to everything?”

 

“Pretty much.” Arthur stretched out his leg, working the stiffness from his thigh. “Antoli is having a “look how rich I am” party at his villa in Bali next month. I just gotta lay low until then. Bastard is going to pay for those shoes,” Arthur added under his breath. 

 

Arthur could almost hear Dom’s eyes roll into the back of his head. 

 

*************

 

Arthur knew it was a risk to show his face at Antoli’s villa, but he took his chances and blended in with the crowd, his crisp Tom Ford suit feeling like armor. 

 

After an hour of schmoozing and scanning the room, Antoli hadn’t shown his face and Arthur was frustrated. His trigger finger itched for the gun holstered under his coat, the image of Antoli’s face right before Arthur pulled the trigger bouncing through his head. Arthur scowled as he grabbed a flute of champagne from the next tray that passed him. 

 

Arthur was pulled from his thoughts when boisterous laughter broke out behind him. He turned when he heard a voice that seemed oddly familiar. Arthur narrowed his eyes, scanning the crowd, searching for the source of the sound. He had heard it somewhere before, something important enough to stick in his head. 

 

Red. Ruby red suit and red soled shoes. 

 

Arthur’s eyes zeroed in on the man in red across the room. “Are those my fucking shoes?” he whispered, feeling himself start to move. 

 

The closer he got, the more sure he was; the shiny black upper with the spiked studs around the heel were very distinctive. The man wearing the shoes was clad in a perfectly tailored red Dupioni silk suit; any other time Arthur would have been admiring the view of those thick thighs and ass in those pants, but right now he wanted his damn shoes back. 

 

The man turned as if he could feel Arthur approaching, stopping him in his tracks. His brow knit with confusion as the paramedic that had treated him (and destroyed his Dunhill) smiled as he talked to an older Asian man next to him. 

 

Just as the man’s eyes slid to meet Arthur’s, screams and the sound of clattering heels broke out behind him. Arthur stared at the man wearing  _ his _ shoes, knowing immediately that there was an assassin with a gun to his head behind him. The fact that Antoli would have him killed in the middle of all these witnesses was a bit surprising, but Arthur gave him credit for having balls the size of a Clydesdale’s. 

 

The man in the red suit watched over Arthur’s shoulder with laser focus, the chagrin slipping from his face like a mask. In one swift movement, Arthur was pulled out of the line of fire by his wrist just in time for a bullet to bury itself in the marble floor. 

 

‘That’s going to cost a lot to fix,’ Arthur mused, flipping the gunman the bird as he was pulled through the crowd that was shocked into movement by the shot. 

 

    Arthur was ushered into a side hall and finally he pushed the other man away. “What the fuck are you doing—?”

 

    “What does it look like?” the man interrupted, his voice lilting with an English accent that he hadn’t had before. 

 

    “—with my fucking shoes?” Arthur finished. 

 

    “You were almost shot in the head and you are still worried about your shoes?” 

 

     Arthur could feel his eye twitch. “I want them back.” 

 

    “Now?”

 

    “Yes.” 

 

    “You were almost shot, I blew my cover to save you, and now, right now, you want me to give you your bloody shoes back.” The man look incredulous. 

 

    “I dreamed about those shoes for months. The day I got shot was the first time I got to wear them. The first time! And you just had to take them—” 

 

    “I had every intention of giving them back—” 

 

    “And not only steal my shoes, you ruined my Dunhill—”

 

    “That suit was gone the moment you were shot.” 

 

    Arthur opened his mouth to argue more when a guard rounded the corner. The other man quickly disabled the guard and turned back to Arthur.

 

    “Can you please shut up about your shoes so I can finish saving your life?” The man held his arms akimbo, his face expectant. 

 

    Arthur studied him for a moment, taking in his grey eyes and familiar lips. “Don’t scuff them.” 

 

    The man rolled his eyes but Arthur allowed himself to be lead to safety, helping the other man take out a few more guards along the way. Arthur raised a brow when he was lead to a classic Mustang convertible and ushered into the passenger seat. 

 

    “Nice car,” Arthur commented, watching as the other man floored the car, tossing up gravel in their wake. “Who the hell are you anyways?” 

 

    “Me? I’m Eames. Nice to meet you.” Eames’ grin was far too charming for Arthur’s taste. 

 

    “Why are you helping me? I had it under control.” Arthur crossed his arms petulantly.

 

    “Sure you did, darling.” Arthur wanted to smack the condescension out of him. “My employer found out about the hit on you and sent me to make sure that didn’t happen. I’ve been undercover for three months, protecting your ass.”

 

    “What does your ‘employer’ want with me?” 

 

     “He has a job for you.” 

 

    “Who is your employer?” 

 

    “You’ll see when we meet them.” 

 

    “Why are you wearing my shoes?” 

 

    Eames sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. “The shoes again?” Eames glanced at Arthur then back at the road. “I liked them, okay? I was going to give them back. Eventually.” 

 

    “Bullshit,” Arthur spat. “You have a suit like that; you can afford your own.” 

 

    “Maybe I wanted to remember the gorgeous man that not only has amazing taste but would lay down and die for a pair of Louboutins. I guess you could say I felt a connection with you. Almost like we were sole mates.” Eames’ grey eyes glittered with mirth, knowing just how bad his pun was.

 

    Arthur couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of him. It had been a long time since he had a full-bellied laugh and it felt really good, relaxing him almost instantly. “You are completely ridiculous, you know that?” 

 

    “And charming, I hope?” Eames waggled his brows, resting a thumb against his mouth, bringing attention to the way his full lips wrapped around the tip. Suddenly Arthur was very charmed, his thoughts taking a hard swerve directly into the gutter.

 

    “Maybe a little,” Arthur admitted, crossing his legs to hide the effect Eames was having on him. “Is there a hotel anywhere in our future?” 

 

    “Tired already?” 

 

    “No. I’m just thinking about how amazing you look, and how much better it would be if you were naked.” Arthur acted casual, watching the road ahead of them. 

 

    “Can I keep the shoes on?” 

 

    Arthur smirked, the brakes squealing as Eames cut a u-turn, pulling into a small hotel with a flashing ‘Vacancy’ sign. “As long as I get them back in the morning.” 

  
  
  


**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Soul Mates](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15656529) by [oceaxe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceaxe/pseuds/oceaxe)




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